Gone
by WhisperToMeSoftly
Summary: x Spoilers for Something Nice Back Home x No. She couldn’t be gone. She couldn’t be. Every inch of him yearned to deny it, to say that she wasn’t really gone. That she hadn’t really disappeared, that Sawyer hadn’t really failed. oneshot.


**AN: Just as a warning: swear words. Nothing too horrible, but they're there.**

**Just so you don't say I didn't warn you.**

**I'm not really sure if this is a SawyerxClaire. I was just enamored with the fact that Sawyer was so protective of her. I thought it made for a great character relationship—even if it isn't a romantic one.**

**REMEMBER TO REVIEW. You don't have to say good things. Just say something. I like to know that you're there. :)**

Sawyer knew swear words. It was as simple as that. He knew colorful ones, foreign ones, words that would make you flinch even if you had never heard them before.

And yet none of them seemed to be strong enough.

"Claire!" he yelled again, clutching baby Aaron to his chest. "Claire!"

No. She couldn't be gone. She _couldn't_ be. Every inch of him yearned to deny it, to say that she wasn't really gone. That she hadn't really disappeared, that Sawyer hadn't really failed. But she wouldn't have left Aaron. Not unless she was forced to.

The child's cries had subsided somewhat, to become murmurs and whimpers and gurgles of unhappiness. Clumsy fingers opened and closed against his chest, and he gently jostled the infant up and down to quiet him. A sudden feeling of being alone—of being vulnerable—closed over him. She had been taken out from right under his very nose. He had been a mere five feet away! And he had been sleeping like a babe.

He swore violently for the tenth time. What should he do? Should he look for her? Keep running through the jungle, screaming her name? It would do no good. If Sawyer was anything, he was a realist. He had a hungry, tired, upset infant in his arms and a potentially dangerous man sitting alone by a campfire not twenty yards away. There was only so much he could do.

Claire was gone.

"CLAIRE!" he screamed for the last time. It hurt his voice, his chest ached from using so much air so fast, but it felt good. It felt good to let that frustration out, to let the anger escape. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he hugged Aaron tighter to him. "It's all right, junior," he muttered, rubbing his back. "It's all right."

Aaron just laid his head on Sawyer's shoulder and closed his eyes.

Miles was still prodding the fire with a stick when Sawyer walked into the clearing; he glanced up at his entrance, his prodding momentarily paused.

"Did you find her?" he asked, in a tone of voice that implied conversational banter.

Sawyer's only response was to backhand the man as hard as he could across the face.

Miles was sent reeling backwards, over the log he was sitting on, to land heavily on the underbrush behind with a crash. Sawyer just walked on, stamping out the fire that was now little more than a flame above coals. "What the hell was _that_ for?!" Miles sputtered loudly, floundering to get to his feet. He froze as Sawyer spun to face him, his expression dangerous in every sense of the word.

"For letting her go," he snarled in a low voice. Miles just gaped. "Now let's move. _You first._"

-x-x-

"How much farther is it?"

"You make it seem like a god damn _road trip_."

"Look, I'm tired and hungry. How much farther is the beach?"

"We'll get there when we get there."

Miles 'hmph'ed, turning away and muttering, "You make it seem like a god damn road trip."

"What did you just say?"

"Nothing."

"Then shut up."

Traveling with a child had been hard on Sawyer. True, Aaron had been asleep for much of the time, but carrying him _and_ holding the gun so that he could shoot anything that moved (or Miles, should the need arise) was a spectacular feat. He had to prop the gun up on his hip, cocking his wrist to cradle the butt of the rifle. His muscles ached like wildfire to hold it there, but he wasn't taking any chances.

And there was no way in hell this guy would be holding either the gun _or_ Aaron.

On top of all that, Claire was still weighing heavily on his mind. He didn't know where she was, he didn't know what had happened to her, and he didn't know what to do about it. If there was anything he didn't like, it was not knowing what to do.

The logical choice, of course, was to continue walking to the beach. He had the child, and he had Miles. They could look for Claire once they had more people—and more guns.

"Why do I have to walk in front again?"

Sawyer rolled his eyes. "Because I have to _see_ you, dumbass. And I ain't walking backward!"

"That would be a thing to see. Especially with you trying to hold both Aaron and the gun."

Dammit, how could he see that? He didn't even turn around!

"Just shut your mouth," Sawyer ordered exasperatedly, shifting Aaron in his arms to try and relieve his aching muscles. This kid was _heavy_… "You're the one forging the trail."

"Kinda like that Harrison Ford character, right?"

"Yeah. Except you don't get the cool hat."

"Shame."

"Sawyer?"

The sound of his name made him whirl, his finger pressed against the trigger, ready to pull. Even Miles started, glancing around at the forest as if he expected Bigfoot to come rushing at him at any moment.

"Sawyer? Sawyer!"

He couldn't believe his eyes. She was streaked with dirt and filth, her golden hair was even messier than it had been before, and her clothes were torn and definitely not the color they had originally been.

But at the moment, he didn't really care. All he knew was that she was wild-eyed and frightened, and running towards him at top speed. She was alive.

Dropping the gun (a very foolish thing to do, in hindsight), he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as soon as she was close enough, and pulled her in towards him. "Damn it all, sweetheart," he muttered in a faintly choked voice, holding her tighter than he had Aaron. "Don't you _ever_ do that again, you hear?"

Claire looked slightly surprised to find herself pressed against his chest, but not altogether disgusted. "Yeah, I'm sorry," she began. "I saw…I saw—"

"Good ol' dad, I know," Sawyer interrupted, releasing her (apparently satisfied that she was real, whole, and unhurt).

"Yeah, I did," she said, eyes wide. "And I followed him, 'cause he was holding Aaron. I chased him through the jungle, calling his name—but when I found him, he didn't have Aaron! Then he just…disappeared."

She reached for her child without appearing to realize she was doing so, and Sawyer gratefully relinquished him. He still couldn't take his eyes off of her, still couldn't believe that she was real. He had been so…worried. Concerned. And those were understatements. He had truly feared for her.

He wasn't sure why he cared so much for this girl.

"Sweet peach, you listen to me," he began, lifting her chin so that she was gazing directly at him. "I got your back, all right? I've gotta keep you safe. You and that baby. I'm gonna make sure this island—and some of the people on it," he glared at Miles, "never get you. Do you believe that?"

She hesitated, searched his eyes for a moment, then nodded.  
"Good. Because you scared the shit outta me, Claire. The next time you do that, I may have to find you just so I can kill you for scaring me half to death, 'kay?"

A quiet smile tugged at the corners of her lips; she nodded again.

"Good." He bent down, picked up the gun, and rested a hand on her back to guide her—and keep her close. "Lead the way, Indiana Jones," he told Miles with a smirk. Miles just scowled, doing as he was told.

"It's no fun if I don't get the hat."


End file.
